Collapse
by Novoux
Summary: The worst part of letting go is the fall it takes to be caught. In Izaya's case, it seems only fair that Shizuo, a beast, is the one who refuses to let go. Sequel to Suspension, part two of the Unsteady series; Shizaya


His eyes don't stay dry all night—the first fact Shizuo learns in spending the night in one cramped bed with one Izaya Orihara who is completely out cold, sleeping off too much drinking. In his arms, tightly balled into a cocoon of not wanting to face any brush of morning that comes with crisp reminders to start the next day and the accursed holiday of love is over so Izaya should have been celebrating with someone else—not a loveless monster who sobers up too quickly but still deals with a pounding headache in the earlier hours of the morning or still night. It's hard to tell, honestly, when remembering the previous events that have led to him holding onto his beloved enemy in his bed.

The first fact he actually learns is that Izaya is vulnerable when drunk, and to take extra caution in not upsetting him any further when Shizuo refuses to let him go, frustrating the delicate balance of how much they hate each other because instinct tells him he can't let this one go. Not like all the other nights, wondering if Izaya's eyes are unnaturally bright at night with alcohol tinging him and providing some false warmth (the fact is that Izaya still shivers by himself, Shizuo having to pull him so close he can't breathe if they move apart to finally stop the tremors) for the glow of his horrible personality. Easily forgotten at the bottom of a bottle and not as painful as admitting the truth which is a terrible thing to do when drunk and too upset for much of anything. Shizuo still doesn't think it's possible for Izaya to be upset over anything, but tonight he's been proving everything he knows as wrong.

Secondly, as a fact and upfront for what it is, it takes longer than he knows of to console the flea who is _not _(clearly emphasizing this for many reasons) crying, weeping, whining, anything at all. As far as they know Izaya is intoxicated and therefore not Izaya—which is okay for Shizuo, as long as he can keep the stupid flea from stumbling around or running away. Maybe his T-shirt stains with wet drops that mysteriously happen when in contact with another person. Who knows, because he doesn't and Izaya won't answer to anything so it's not worth it. To find out the reason why is even harder and it's too early in ripping off the scab to scratch at it.

What he does learn is that shushing isn't something considered effective so he doesn't try—not going beyond further than his arms locked in place and no one is going anywhere, it's cold outside so don't even try. It should be enough, sitting on an old couch and no buzzing of the television in the background. By this example he learns that Izaya's hair is unnaturally silky even if the flea reeks of the sour rotting smell, which isn't present and he blames the alcohol—but it still slides between his fingers easily. The reason behind this is more or less trying to get the T-shirt stains to cease and the breaths that come from Izaya to calm down, which eventually happens soon enough because of how intoxicated they both are. Shizuo can sober up quickly with a pounding headache while Izaya's off and completely asleep, curling into himself like he doesn't expect anything new to come and make itself useful to stop the rising gooseflesh as cold air sets in.

For the third fact he's already in bed, Izaya managing to take up most of it like the greedy bastard he is while Shizuo is too tired to care. Sheets pull up over the both of them and despite every resource telling him it's absolutely morally completely wrong, he lies awake when his bed starts to shiver and realizes that it's not the mattress. Later he learns as a fact that Izaya is a skinny little flea who may reek of alcohol and warmed spice—burning like a strong scent Shizuo doesn't want to get too close to, but for the sake of stopping the shivering he employs his arms, wrapping around Izaya. As if the night can't get any weirder—it really can't, there's no point in trying to sort things out.

Just sleep.

Which doesn't work for long, after the first fact of waking up and noticing that his second pillow is damp and Izaya is turned away from him, hogging the blankets once again. More like the streaks of wetness staining it and knowing that they aren't as old as they should be prompts the question he wants to ask, as tongue-tied as he is and still utterly confused about this entire situation. A little more sober, anger starting to flare due to Izaya being Izaya and it's all muscle memory anyway, though the images of last night start to haunt him just as he closes his eyes again and alcohol tears stain his pillow. Snippets of last night's conversation hunt him down and prey on his brain, sloshy and thick with too many drinks and sobering up fast to try and talk to someone out of their mind and terribly out of place.

It's some time in the night and too early to be alive at this rate. Shizuo can't help but think, knowing it's morning from the darker tone to the midnight hues of empty skies and no stars in sight from heavy pollution. Even out where he is, his apartment is shoddy and the electricity is too worn out to pick up the cart so beat the dead horse and hope that the showers will turn on in the morning. It's not always so bad because it stops the idiots that are his unfortunate neighbors from making too much noise but the stars above don't care for such things, not when covered in blankets of suffocating light to blacken them out. The night sky in Tokyo is nonexistent these days and while he doesn't have much of a desire to see the stars there is the question-answer rapid fire of whether or not to wake Izaya, hands folded into himself and sleeping like a curled up child.

Shizuo doesn't feel the pinching grasp of anger when it pokes and slicks itself up, ready to course through and pump throughout each of his muscles until the squeezing and ripping releases enough tension. It's a sensation of peering through the anger akin to a toddler's, untamed and unreasonable to where it exaggerates himself and there is no excuse for it. But for now he uses the dim light coming filtered from his bedroom window to get a closer look at what burden he's taking up for the night. This morning is work and he'll have to explain himself or not, checking in early if this means finding out why Izaya is completely in his bed and clothed in more blankets than necessary when it's late winter becoming spring.

Only right now is focusing on the weird feeling of open-holed breathing from his chest when it closes and constricts him tightly—gently pulling him apart with searing rips—and the feeling of being squeezed shut makes for an awkward press and brush against Izaya's skin, pushing him back as slowly as possible without waking him. It's clear he's dead out from being too tired and his face is dry by now, maybe, if he doesn't check (never means to, not at this rate) when his thumb brushes against Izaya's cheek while he tries to figure out why he's not angry. At this point there is no telling where his anger is and why it's gone but the acute sense of pity when he's not angry is almost there, almost heading back with a sly tongue and a slide of hand because there is no plausible explanation for everything going on.

Alcohol can be something interesting—dangerous, unsafe, untested—but yields interesting results. Namely for Izaya's existence up to this point and so easily Shizuo can make himself angry and kill him now, right here just for thinking of invading his apartment.

But he can't.

His breaths come in tired sighs, filling the space between him and his worst enemy with the rises and fall of ribs collapsing in on themselves after the shades of war splashes on his pillow and stained. They will come out later but as for the fact of what Shizuo can or doesn't do he isn't sure if that is as salvageable. Last night is a game of try and fail for the umpteenth time when he can't settle the things he feels and the things he knows and Izaya barges in as always, wanting something to do to pass the time. However the important things—the reason Izaya is here and the reason Shizuo can't be angry now—are conveniently soaking in the carbon bubbles of fizzling in the bottom of a wine glass. Not Shizuo's preference unless if it's sickeningly sweet and Izaya likes the dry, tart things that are the same color as his eyes. A pretty bloody red, turning dark from the amount of broken fruits and broken times seen when drinking together in a show of solidarity and neither runs off to spill any secrets. The most admirable quality of Izaya is the honesty—almost there not quite trying to get away—when drunk. Drunk off the ego trips, drunk off the feeling of wine bubbles soaking on his tongue instead of talking and drunk off pursing red lips and red eyes blinking away the feeling of having the capacity to feel.

In this case, Shizuo inclined to agree, it is more of the wet sound that catches in Izaya's throat when he can't admit to certain things like the weight in his fingers for holding the wine glass. The motion behind the meaning of tipping back the wine glass and the final executed acts of swallowing something that will burn before and after. Shizuo has never qualified himself as good at much of anything, knowing the things he breaks like himself and the physical factors are only one issue. Breaking mentally he doesn't quite understand but he feels the pangs of not knowing what to feel, sometimes emotions are confused mumbles and half-meant apologies while he tries to sort himself out and pretend that they don't exist.

Not nearly as much as he thinks Izaya does, never having the thought—it's odd like a curious question that comes late late late nighttime in the middle of no dreams—of not skipping over the questions of the tiniest noise Izaya makes when he shuffles closer. And his hands unfurl and the closest thing to them is Shizuo's shirt, closing in between fingers and Izaya's head is still against his chest and the empty parts of him come back to haunt once again. Then when he tries to shift and lie on his back he remembers the exact feeling of why he isn't moving much, in the form of a sharp headache between his eyes and stretching all over like a tight-skinned inflamed wound.

Up until now Shizuo doesn't think about the monster beside him claiming the precarious title of a god. His stupid jokes are something to be used to or forget about forgetting when Izaya likes the attention. He loves to relish in when people are nervous or scared and take the energy and use it against them to feed his addictions. Loves to pull apart Shizuo's anger and make the strange things that he can actually feel—composed of anger, mainly—come out and exaggerate and emphasize until the thoughts aren't even human but a subtype of monster and freakishly wrong. Grotesque images come to mind when thinking of Izaya, the reek of death always around him and while not the physical (there may be no right or wrong answer to that) it could be the sound of any humanity in him leaving in some violent form or another. Shizuo bets the more illegal forms of mental torture and instability until the masks crack and crumble or start bleeding until the stench starts to soak up and rot.

Stupid, but not _completely_ impossible at this point. Not if Shizuo can't move because of a hangover and there are unspoken reasons meant to be pondered over when his headache is not present. Or Izaya is so close to him that Shizuo can feel every pulse of a steadying heartbeat and wonders if this is the only thing that makes him human. Drinking himself stupid is another human thing, not typical of monstrous gods dethroned by their own designs. As much as Izaya likes to think he's stupid there's a meaning behind why Shizuo doesn't speak more than he needs to, when he has nothing to prove himself for. There is no reason why Izaya should drink in the same respect but it's an old fact that Izaya is composed of many different parts twisted or inside-out when referring to how to behave like a human being. He's not just an asshole, he's designed to be an asshole.

And the very, very demented parts of him are the ones Shizuo prefers to avoid. They make Izaya angry and laugh with that disgusting smear of a smirk he wears constantly, always thinking he's on top and he can't be bothered with anyone else so simply tipping them over and taking anything they have makes him automatically better. Shizuo hates the inferiority complex given to everyone else because Izaya automatically isolates himself from anyone and claims to adore _his _humans (Shizuo has never heard such a lie so big and so full of—) while he tortures them. Not a benevolent god at all but some brat who has more social issues than Shizuo can count the times he's hit him. The laughter he makes always sounds like a mix of laughing and being torn apart from the inside whenever he gets back up, bruised and bloody and his sneer never fades. Lights in his eyes do, never there but extinguished for the longest time Shizuo doesn't bother to notice because again, he doesn't care that much for Izaya. Lying in bed with his greatest enemy and peskiest annoyance on the goddamn planet happens to be collateral damage and brain blockage from not being able to think.

The last fact Shizuo learns is that when Izaya wakes up it is not in some grand flourish or the direct contrast of sleepy noise and shuffling. It sounds like a sigh, something breathy and stale in the colder air and his body tenses, Shizuo feels him move in increments and figures the leftover alcohol may be to blame. He still stretches inwardly and shivers when he does, head on Shizuo's bicep and at this point Shizuo prepares for anything, still keeping one arm around Izaya when it already loops under his head and the other drifting across his own waist, thinking of any solution to make sense. There aren't any, unfortunately in the probability they either fuck things up again or Izaya can explain himself, when those red eyes of his flicker back and forth and open in short blinks, still heavily lidded to not comprehend much. He's still sleepy, not moving and struggling to wake up, going by the tiredness that etches itself into his face. He's not sure where to take this, never has been at this point in time or before but Shizuo waits, watching for any telltale sign Izaya is going to either try to kill him or run off, laughing and pretending it never happened but it _did _so Shizuo will get the explanation he deserves for putting up with this.

Izaya's arms shift to stretch carefully against himself, moving to push himself up but—"Don't move, flea. Lay down." Shizuo doesn't try to flex his arm because he knows how much of a mistake it is but by accident mistakes happen and Izaya's eyes fly open wide, soon regretting it as quickly as they dull and he moves back, pushing himself away from Shizuo and another attempted mistake of aggravating his headache. "You've got the hangover of the century, don't bother doing much." Shizuo's voice is low and husky, growl setting in from lack of use and being hoarse from too many arguments to prepare for another one. Izaya's hand is probably grappling for his knife, disposed of in the pile where his jacket is and easily where Shizuo can intercept if need be. He doesn't plan on it, Izaya barely being able to keep his eyes open or swallow properly by the misplaced movement of his jaw and coughing on his own spit.

"Didn't take you for the type to drag people back into your lair, Shizu-chan." Izaya hisses low, headache plaguing him and easily keeping him immobile. It shouldn't be Shizuo's only hope if push comes to shoving everything—including Izaya and the pitiful expression of muted frustration on his face when he can't move—out the window and trying hard to forget what's not possible to. Izaya still squirms, even though Shizuo slides to lie on his side and can easily keep him down with a hand to Izaya's arm. His skin is icy cold and there are goosebumps rising when his skin prickles and Shizuo remembers that the blanket is over him now, Izaya foolishly escaping from it earlier like the answer to all the problems is in pretending he's not freezing cold from denying any help that may or may not be needed. In this case, Shizuo isn't sure what to think.

"Lie down, flea, or you're gonna regret it." Shizuo isn't in the mood for replying to any taunts and his voice makes it final that he's not about to start any arguments. "You're in my apartment, my bed, don't even try it. I'm the idiot who let you drink here anyway, so that point is already over." He adds when Izaya's eyes screw shut and try to block out the pang of a massive hangover, probably thinking Shizuo is humiliating him at this point and he can believe all he wants with that shitty attitude of his and not failing to explain why he's here in the first place. Or for anything that he does, as minimal as this to the stupid things Shizuo knows on the street but those are two different lives and this one is right now. So the other one doesn't matter as long as Izaya can curl up on himself and groan about a headache from his own stupidity. The delusion in his head is that he thinks he can escape this without another word and frankly Shizuo is tired of this for the same reason he wants an explanation for the simpler things—not a long, drawn-out and confusing reproduction for every reiteration Izaya wants to offer, but the reasons like if there are emotions which ones are the ones he's tried drowning in a bathtub or in a bed with an enemy and a glass or three of wine.

"I bet Shizu-chan thinks this must be hilarious," Izaya starts, much quieter than his normal voice and not as annoying but the haughty tone sets a flare and a rise of smoke somewhere somehow. "Keeping me in your bed to give the impression that we fucked. If there was a Hell, I may as well have reached the deepest layer by now." Izaya probably rolls his eyes but the sharp inhale isn't something Shizuo imagines when he presses away and against the window sill, still not getting up and at least he can somewhat follow directions. Like an idiot, but Izaya has never been all that smart in such regards. "Just get out of my way, Shizu-chan, and I'll be gone in a minute." Izaya then breaks the little assurance Shizuo has of him not being possibly any more stupid but he does, trying to sit up but Shizuo is on him faster than he can get his hands around Shizuo's throat in a hopeless attempt of resisting being kept down. All it takes is one hand pressing to his chest and the other holding down Izaya's arm closest to him.

Shizuo hates the pang of a headache but hates slippery fleas who try to escape reality even more. "No, you're gonna lay down and talk to me for once. Don't even think of mocking me or ignoring me, or I'll bash your head into the wall. Got it?" Keeping his voice low isn't too hard but still a task, ignoring the ringing in his ears and watching instead the scrunch of Izaya's eyes when he struggles without avail.

"Flattered, Shizu-chan, I am," Izaya hisses, a groan mixing in when his head pounds fiercely and Shizuo doesn't let up on thinking of letting him go. "But I don't want to be here any more than you want me to be here. Let me go already and laugh about it whenever, just not when I'm here." The avoidance and evasive action make questions spring up and Shizuo forgets momentarily how close they are, him holding himself over Izaya and the flea spread out beneath him with a strange look in his eyes that twists like barbwire holding in and pushing away. Sharp and jagged, just like the emptiness of his threats and any word that comes rolling out of his mouth that has been so far either a lie or a poor excuse of hiding the truth.

Shizuo lowers his head and forces Izaya to look at him, mindful of Izaya's other hand that lazily sits near his side but can easily try to choke him. "I don't think you heard me well. I said you're staying here, until I'm satisfied. Whatever you have to tell yourself to comfort yourself over that fact, do it now or keep your mouth shut." Izaya glares daringly at him, headache making his movements weaker and the glare not as focused with as glazed and red-rimmed his eyes are. It makes Shizuo stop, realizing the reason why his pillow is colder than normal and still traces of damp and a long night they still have. The first of questions is more of a mess of things and seeing as Izaya isn't going to answer to anything else he'll have to spit it out now while he can and not make a mess of himself and the fact neither of them are going back to sleep.

"Why are you here, flea?" Which sounds vague so he continues, wanting to choke the bastard as soon as that foul smirk starts spreading. "Yeah, I get that you're in my bed and shit. Don't fuck with me. I'm asking why you keep coming here to drink with me and then leave." _Until now, _and that is exactly the sort of pained truth that comes with more questions and not really answering anything at all. Worthless in any standard of productivity when Shizuo keeps himself sitting on Izaya, finding no point to get off the flea until the idiot answers to the point of making Shizuo satisfied and not filled with more and more questions. Last night is an example of why they don't mix, like lemonade and wine in a fizzling sense of going down to the last bone standing when Izaya's knees gave out and with as light as he is, he passes out pretty quickly.

The sticky stains of saltwater on Shizuo's shirt (snot, like the snot-nosed brat himself always there, disgusting as it is) when he carries Izaya to his bedroom are proof of this. So are the stains that are clear and cold like Izaya's look of contempt as if planning the uneventful task of Shizuo's murder. Bastard probably thinks it's funny, too. He doesn't know, though, of the reason why Shizuo carries him with one arm under his knees and the other at his back, keeping his head on Shizuo's broader shoulder when it's time to give up the ghost for the night and wait until times like now to explain.

Izaya groans, quietly, and turns his head away. "Do I even need an answer for that, Shizu-chan? You don't have a reason why you destroy public property, much less start a fight with me in the streets whenever you feel like it." One eye turns to Shizuo and narrows, attempting a withering stare and going with a death glare. Or one promising misery when the cloudiness leaks away and he can regain himself long enough to stop thinking about everything but here and now—Shizuo can see it in his expressions, so guarded but not carefully hidden with as tired as he is. Hangovers tend to have this purpose of serving either way, benefiting both sides in this case in a doubtful argument.

Shizuo scowls, as if Izaya just has to make this difficult for no reason at all other than squirming away. He can crawl like a worm all he wants when Shizuo is finished picking him clean. "I destroy shit and _you _because you piss me off, freak. So is that why there's a stick up your ass? 'Cause you're mad at something?" In no attempt to actually be rude or callous but seeing as Izaya has that effect on him he tries to keep himself behaved, performing fairly well for having to deal with Izaya for this much at one time. But wondering what Izaya is exactly mad about enough to cause so much trouble for himself and then Shizuo, always taking fun in enjoying to torture people, where is the point in getting angry and why does he—

"Don't make assumptions, Shizu-chan. I have to entertain myself somehow." Izaya rolls his eyes, lazily slow and not making any grandiose sweeps of his hand to reveal a magic trick and end the show when he glances at the door and then back at Shizuo. "Satisfied your sadistic desires, beast? Wanted to know my deepest secrets and use them against me, or when thinking of me?" Izaya does the crooked little smirk and Shizuo's arms tighten on him, hearing the effect immediately when one of his hands is on Izaya's sternum and pushing painfully. It's the wrong thing to do but he can't left off all the pressure immediately. He's not satisfied, no, and sick of the worm playing these games with him like he's an idiot.

"Not exactly the answer I was looking for," he sighs, glancing back at Izaya when he can compose himself enough not to break bones. The quiet solace of cold apartment air in an unheated room feels like realizations of just how small they are in comparison to the mess that is Izaya. "I don't honestly think about you, so put that out of your twisted mind. You're the one who comes to my apartment and drinks wine until you can barely stand." Izaya is just about to open his mouth and his brows furrow and his tongue rears for more barbs when Shizuo interrupts him, not wanting to hear it. "And I know, the wine in my refrigerator and shit. That's not why you keep inviting yourself over, don't bother with the insults or excuses. I'm not in the mood for it."

Izaya stifles a hiss when his head aches and throbs, Shizuo's increasing pressure on his sternum making it feel like it's going to break into pieces if he doesn't get off soon. "Aren't you perceptive for once, Shizu-chan. Careful, or you'll break the half of a brain cell you have left." Izaya spits cryptically as per usual, struggling this time to drag in a breath when Shizuo presses harder when this is the wrong answer. Insults to defend himself and hide behind while he escapes, Shizuo knows the routine and how well it works when he's not looking for the specific traps. What Izaya thinks he benefits from this stupidity Shizuo doesn't know, probably shouldn't want to anyway but here he is and there is no going back from asking for the truth. Just to satisfy some sick curiosity of his, whatever excuse the flea comes up with, just to have an answer.

His own answer isn't that simple. "You don't wanna talk? I'll talk for you. Correct me if I'm wrong, but since you don't want to cooperate, then have it your way." Shizuo growls low, increasing the pain and making Izaya wince until he lets up on it, knowing a bruise will start to settle and wonders why Izaya hides the pain when it clearly hurts more than he hides the redness in his eyes bleeding from his irises. "To start, you're acting like a fucking dumbass when you know that I'm not gonna let you go until you give me a fucking answer. Since you don't want to act like you're not some shitty brat, I get to play your stupid game 'til you fess up."

Izaya doesn't speak, there's no need to at this point when his eye narrow and glare, trying not to portray the fact he looks like he's in pain and frustrated because of the hangover and being caught by a monster. Happens, when he messes up one too many times and doesn't bother leaving himself a lifeline. Shizuo wonders why that is, not wanting to get too involved in the psychological mess of things. "Whenever, without any warning or any specific time, you come over to my apartment. And bitch about it while you drink the wine I have for you, because you kept showing up so many times that I bought you some to see if you'd talk. Doesn't work when I'm drinking too, and then you're blabbing on and on about shit that I forget in the morning." He tries to recall more than carrying Izaya to bed and remembering when the wetness starts falling between them and figures it's best not to.

Red eyes roll—don't look, don't act don't _speak—_because it's all wrong in the first place. Shizuo doesn't let him speak and decides to keep his hand resting lightly on Izaya's ribs, feeling the unsteady pulse of his heartbeat climbing where he doesn't remember being this close before. Not coherent, not sober and not feeling the breath of another human being when isolation is how monsters are contained. Izaya is here right under his fingers and under the power that circuits in his veins to every pinprick sensation from the hair rising on the back of his neck to the ugly feeling in his stomach of iron hardening. "And if I don't know what you even talk about when you drink, then I won't bother. But you keep coming back, even hauling your ass over on some shitty holiday to drink like you're a drowning fish. Something's making you come back to my apartment or fuck, _me, _and you can't keep expecting me to ignore it like it's natural. 'Cause it's not, and I have no fucking idea why you hate me so much and then pull this shit."

Shizuo shifts his weight on Izaya's hips, trying not to make it awkward but comfortable enough to keep still because they're going to be a while at this rate. "Why come to my apartment? Why not just drink at your fancy apartment? Are you really that lonely that you come over to drink away the fact you can't forget?" Izaya narrows his eyes dangerously and moves to interject save for the hand slapping over his mouth. The sting makes both of them wince in varying degrees. "No, shut up. You have other people to piss off, hell, you could go to a bar. And why the fuck come to here if you hate me? Because if you can't recall, I'll help with that. Last night you were crying your eyes out like the real Izaya was kidnapped and replaced. Even I don't get that pathetic when I'm drinking." It's an uncomfortable ache that starts in Shizuo's chest, right where the middle of his lungs are just as his throat branches off into the feelings of dry and morning gravel being ground up in a blend of not wanting to do this.

"Why do you even try, Izaya?" Shizuo forgoes the nickname to see what happens and the eyes widening are sign that maybe he's doing something right for once. "You come over here and expect me not to notice the obvious things. And then you tried to cover it up last night when you got my shirt wet when you started ranting about shit." He pauses, trying to remember a detail that sticks to mind and barely there, on the tip of every thought piling up and Izaya isn't going to be of any help he remembers the angry look in Izaya's eyes and it's a reminder of...of...whatever philosophy happened, something about it and starting an argument in a slow burning effect. "Shit, it was something about philosophy, and you were upset because I said that you can't fucking hurt people you're supposed to..."

Shit. And then as soon as he thinks it Izaya bites him hard, struggling once again to get away and freeing his mouth in the process. "Had enough fun yet, Shizu-chan? Do you like preying on what drunken things come from my mouth? Even I can't admit to full control of what I do when I'm intoxicated. Is it one of those fantasies of yours, ne? Or do you just fantasize of dominating me because you can't face the fact that I am above you, Shizu-chan?" The hand released from his mouth goes to his throat, tightening in a blind seize of white hot anger when he speaks it as soon as previous thoughts slip from Shizuo's mind and the control is _gone _when it's Izaya who makes him this way. As angry as he is he remembers that his fingers are squeezing Izaya's throat into black and blue, making him choke and gag when he can't hold it back for much longer.

Shit shit shit—_fuck. _"Don't fucking ignore me, Izaya. You're not going anywhere." Shizuo breathes and releases the pale throat staining purple, angry at himself this time around and confused even more than before. "I listened to you while you were drunk, and you listen to me now, while I try to sort this shit out. But this time you're not getting the chance to run away." There should be no reason why he's doing this why he wants to figure things out and Izaya squirms where the hand is still on his throat, spitting words as soon as that vile mouth of his opens.

"You're afraid," Shizuo speaks in place for Izaya, calm and quiet and thinking too hard when it's too early to be having these conversations and too late to start from the beginning. It's been going on too long. "Aren't you? It's not like you go talk to anyone else—because you don't think they'll listen to you. Why would they, when all you do is make them miserable. Don't even have any friends, Shinra doesn't count because he's a creep anyway. But you want what they can't give you. And they'll never give it to you." Shizuo talks faster because his thoughts are returning with fragments of last night's conversation and he remembers the painful details of confessions and obsessions to secrets and lies that lie within wanting to stop _hurting _and drinking is an easy alternative, it's why he does it some times. "So you come hobble over here, thinking that I can't do any more because you hate me and I'm _supposed_ to hate you to get over the fact that you've been rejected by everyone else."

Izaya coughs over the suspicious noise of choking. When he swallows, his throat muscles glide against Shizuo's fingers hovering above the skin. "And where do you get such ideas, Shizu-chan? I never imagined you as this stupid as to assume precarious things like that." But the snarl in his voice does not defend him nor does the hoarse sound that is by Shizuo's hand and his fault as well, eyes starting to burn and head pounding. "But you make conclusions, jumping around on what _you _think is accurate and then use them to sort out something you don't like. Why bother, protozoic idiot? Does it make you feel better, trying to understand why you're a monster and I am a god?"

"See, there you go again." Shizuo growls, restraining himself. "You get defensive when I'm right, don't you? Let's see what happens when you start remembering why you came over. To spill your guts over getting drunk because you're lonely and bored of people ignoring you. Then you say it doesn't matter about you because you're not important in the grand scheme of things. Is that how you see it? That you don't get to be involved because you're not someone else?" His eyes soften because Izaya is not struggling anymore (never seeing the point now because the alcohol is going up up up to his head and drowning him and soaking his thoughts with the smell of disgust) and his hand releases the flea's throat, going to Izaya's other hand and careful to only rest it there on the colder skin. "And then you wind up in my bed because you were going on and on about how it didn't matter and that you didn't need to have a reason to drink."

Silence. Trying to think of how to put his thoughts together, Izaya looks tired beneath him and doesn't move when Shizuo's fingers brush against his shoulder. "Why me? Did you think that it'd be easier to drink if someone didn't care about you enough to bother asking why?" It doesn't make any sense. On one hand it does because Izaya doesn't want to interfere with his humans who have what he doesn't and the only one closest to him on his level is Shizuo. "All you do is talk about how smart you are and how no one else can compare. What, then, makes you too afraid to face it?"

"Enough with the—"

Shizuo interrupts, heaving a sigh and knowing none of them are going to be able to be the same or much less sleep again. "Don't even start. All you'll say is something defensive and insulting or just flat-out lie. Either way, I don't want to hear it, so stick with silence. You told me what I wanted to hear last night, and now it's your turn to own up to the fact that you're scared." Izaya's fists tighten into his palms, teeth grinding together wanting to leave now and not deal with the weight sitting in his chest. Too much pent up anger and frustration and the _lonely_—no, it doesn't exist. Shizuo keeps talking, keeps making it worse. "Look, if you want to come here, that's fine. But you can't just keep changing all the time from enemies to drinking in my apartment. Normal relationships don't work like that. And for you, I wouldn't guess you're one to lack impulse control. Just no more, okay?"

Izaya turns his head away and tests his arms in Shizuo's grasp, unable to escape because he's been captured and he doubts the beast is done with the taunting. Shizuo's fingers move from his arm to his jawline, trailing up in a surprisingly gentle (it makes his blood boil, how Shizuo can deceive him so easily without a thought for a simple-minded beast) action before his thumb reaches Izaya's cheek, just below his eye. "You said you didn't understand how to live if no one loved you. If it takes that much to make you cry, then something has to change." The next words are more than the lump in his throat when he can't stand Izaya looking away from him, pretending he isn't hearing this.

"Izaya, look at me."

No, he can't, because he can't do this right now and there's no point when the fun is over since before last night and all the nights of pretending that it won't matter in the morning, better when he can't forget but the best and worst part about his brain is that no matter how drunk he can get it never fades from memory. Of course he knows. He knows exactly what Shizuo is talking about and he hates this random burst of self-confident cockiness at whatever hour in the morning when his head is pounding and his chest is splitting open for some reason or another, never able to describe the feeling of having his ribs falling apart and rattling inside his lungs. The icy cold fingers seep down his spine, not sure what to think of the fact Shizuo isn't angry and he's not threatening death but the expressions and emotions he can't read so easily. A fatal flaw in the making of his own hands and it's all his fault and easy to try to not take the blame.

"We don't have to talk about this anymore right now," Shizuo starts as soon as red irises slide to him with no other option. His rough fingers on Izaya's cheek, capable of killing him now while Izaya's arm can only squeeze around Shizuo's throat. By then his skull would be crushed to pieces and he doesn't want that at all. Not to the reason why he's still here and the one he can't admit quite yet or ever, seeing as he isn't fond of confessions unless if they're someone else's. "But we will. I'm not letting you delude yourself into thinking that getting by with being an asshole and ignoring yourself will give you what you want. Denying it won't make it any better."

He feels like his skull has been cracked open. But Shizuo is still there, thumb under his eye where it swipes at the first feel of imaginary wetness. Of course it's not there and his eyes are red from the alcohol. It's nothing else.

"Sleep off your hangover, you're tired." Shizuo gets off of him, apparently trusting Izaya not to do anything which is a fatal mistake until arms are wrapping around him and pulling him too close to a hard chest and weary breaths of his own. There's something more he wants to do, maybe never. But seeing as he doesn't have a choice of escaping and too many thoughts weighing on his mind it feels like sleep won't ever come.

When morning comes, neither are sure what follows.

At least, maybe, there's a chance to forget the ache.

* * *

_Part two of the Unsteady series, featuring Suspension as the first work. If you haven't read it, I suggest you do in order for this to make sense._

_Thank you for reading._


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